


Phantom Faces at the Window

by ElisabethMonroe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Friendship, Ghosts, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisabethMonroe/pseuds/ElisabethMonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which:<br/>Marius sees his friends<br/>The Amis make total fun of Marius' ballad to them<br/>And I deal awfully with the ending of the Amis in the new movie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Faces at the Window

_There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain that goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables. Now my friends are dead and gone._

 “Oh, stop being so mellow dramatic, Pontmercy!” a familiar voice called, causing Marius’ head to jerk up and look at the source of the noise, seeing a flash across the dirty, broken windows of the Café Musain.

“You could be so lucky,” another chuckled and it sounded like it was right in the corner where an impressive stack of empty bottles was still collected, as if the battle hadn’t effected it at all.

Marius shook his head, steeling himself again. He was just imagining it.

 _Here they talked of revolution. Here it is, they lit the flame. Here they sang of tomorrow and tomorrow never came_.

A candle suddenly flickered to life and the familiar groan of a table echoed around the empty room as if someone were standing on it. “Marius, control yourself. You must take over for me.”

_From the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn and they rose with voices ringing and I can hear them now._

“That’s because you can!” Grantaire chortled and the bottles rattled again.

“Well, almost all of us saw a world reborn…” Bossuet added.

Marius felt himself become more and more frustrated. He must have a fever. He had just experienced trauma. He had lost his entire world. Minus Cossette of course.

_The very words that they sang became their last communion on this lonely barricade at dawn_

A gentle pressure settled on his shoulder. “It was a good last communion, Marius. We died fighting for what we wanted,” Jehan whispered softly. “Write down our struggle, tell the world.”

Marius stood up and shoved the chair away, trying to shake the feeling off his shoulder.

_Oh my friends forgive me, forgive me, that I live and you are gone. There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain that goes on and on._

“Marius, you were the last one anyone expected to die for the cause,” Bahorel said softly and Marius could swear he could feel the warmth envelope him in the strong hold that the boxer possessed.

“You’re a lover, not a fighter,” Musichetta pointed out. It felt like she kissed his temple gently.

“And you’re starting to repeat yourself,” Grantaire warned, wine sloshing as if he were really pointing a bottle at Marius.

_Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the ground. Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will meet no more…_

“If you’d put it on the barricade, perhaps we wouldn’t be dead!” Feuilly suddenly accused, though the red head’s smile could be heard in the tone.

“Looks like we’re all meeting here anyway,” Courfeyrac supplied with a grin.

_Oh, my friends, my friends, don’t ask me what your sacrifice was for! Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will sing no more._

Marius was yelling by this point to block out his friends’ voices.

“France, Marius, France! We discussed this!” Enjolras shouted, smacking his palm to the back of his other hand as he so often did when Marius was being frustrating. “You speak more languages than any of us and you can’t understand that one!”

“We can start singing again,” Grantaire offered in a chuckle.

The young man buried his face in his hands and sank down when he felt a soft touch pressing him down into a chair. He took several deep breaths to avoid crying even worse than he was and looked up to see his friends all seated around him, foggy, fickle, shifting, but there. Feuilly was perched on Bahorel’s lap in a chair by a broken table by the window. Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat together, watching Marius closely at his table. Jehan sat by himself in the middle of a table in the middle of the room. Enjolras and Grantaire sat across a table from each other by the far wall where Grantaire usually sat and Enjolras was _still_ glaring at Grantaire and the bottle in his hand. Eponine was a chair away from Marius, reaching for his hand. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were all at the table between Enjolras and Grantaire and Marius’ table.

“Is this it then? Have I died?” he asked softly, voice breaking and choking several times as he thought of Cossette on her own.

Grantaire let out a hearty snicker and shook his head. “Still as naïve and hopeful as we left you.”

“You’re not dead, Pontmercy,” Courfeyrac chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “We just couldn’t bear to part with you.”

“It is odd, though,” Combeferre interjected smoothly, putting a hand on Courfeyrac’s forearm. “We seem not to be able to leave the Café. Or control how we look.”

“Can you remember what happened to yourselves?” Marius asked, disregarding the last part of Combeferre’s comment.

The group nodded. Marius nearly choked as he saw Enjolras’ hand reach out impossibly quick for Grantaire’s to hold on tightly.

 “Yes, good on stopping the bullets, fearless leader!” Bahorel boomed through the small room as he so often did.

Enjolras glared at him, though there was genuine pain behind his eyes. “You were not supposed to stand up in the middle of a firefight.”

“Look, tackle you out of the way to save your life and you’re still not pleased,” Bahorel grumped.

Feuilly smiled softly and shook his head. “You know who deserves tons of kudos for his work in the battle? Combeferre. Did you see that man work?” He smiled over at Combeferre who blushed and looked to his lap, fixing his broken glasses.

“It really wasn’t…there had a reason Enjolras’ kept me around, hadn’t there?” he asked with a small chuckle. Marius looked over to see Enjolras’ reaction to this but found him completely spaced out, staring at Grantaire’s upturned palm on the table, tracing out patterns onto the pale skin.

“Who was the first?” Marius asked, terrified of the answer.

Courfeyrac suddenly choked and pressed his face to Combeferre’s shoulder. “It was Gavroche,” he whimpered, shaking his head. “He should never have left. I shouldn’t have let him leave…”

Suddenly a little body came scurrying out from under the table and launched itself into Courfeyrac’s lap, hugging him tightly. “Don’t blame yourself. We’re all together again and that’s all that matters,” Gavroche said quickly, burying his face in Coufeyrac’s chest. Courfeyrac hugged the little boy tightly, kissing his hair and holding onto him.

Marius looked away as Combeferre put an arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulder soothingly. “Who was the last?” Only then did Enjolras react, looking at Marius before slowly raising his and Grantaire’s entwined hands.

“We were. The National Guardsmen trapped us upstairs and backed us to the wall. We died holding the flag up,” Enjolras said confidently, tilting his jaw in a way that Marius could only imagine he had when faced with thirty gun barrels pointed at his chest.

“They died holding hands,” Gavroche suddenly added with a snigger. Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to glare at the little boy. Not right now.

Marius smirked as he looked back to Enjolras whose face was about as red as his jacket. “France before pants, Enjolras. No one cares about your lonely soul. I bet I know where the blood in your veins was stirring. Late to your own death. At least I was only ever late to meetings.”

Now, _Marius_ Enjolras could certainly glare at. Jehan settled the atmosphere again when he stood up and ran his fingers through Enjolras’ hair softly, working out the matted blood in the golden ringlets. He proceeded to groom every Amis silently as the tension settled, as the emotions settled. Courfeyrac and Combeferre leaned their heads together. Bahorel and Feuilly sagged against each other, looking as soft as Marius had ever seen them to look.

“Were you all together when you were alive?” Marius finally asked, earning several chuckles around the room and making him blush.

“You’re not the only to know what love feels like, Marius,” Combeferre offered gently with a friendly smile as he rubbed at Courfeyrac’s neck.

“Even you, Enjolras and Grantaire?” Marius asked, looking to his friends who were back to staring at the black holes in their shirt.

“Of course we weren’t. I didn’t have the time nor the patience nor the courage,” Enjolras said distractedly, counting the bullet holes in his shirt and then in Grantaire’s.

“But you both loved…”

“Since the moment I saw him,” Grantaire offered with a cheeky grin.

Enjolras sighed and rolled his eyes. “We’re not discussing this.”

Marius smiled and settled into his seat, letting the familiar conversation wash over him. It wasn’t long before he was starting to doze off. He saw Eponine stand and bring a blanket to him, wrapping it around his shoulders. Joly got him a glass of water with a miraculously whole glass. He fell asleep to Enjolras yelling about how Marius had to continue on their crusade.

When he awoke, his friends were gone again and no matter how loud he sang, they didn’t come back.

 


End file.
